To Whom It May Concern or There's No Guarantee
by Richan MMI
Summary: Harry's thoughts on what his life has been like. Warning: dark, dark, dark. Hints of slash, but nongraphic.
1. Part 1

To Whom It May Concern

(or There's No Guarantee)

By Richan

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody mentioned here.

Warnings: Angst, angst, angst.

To Whom It May Concern,

There's no guarantee that this will be anything to be concerned about the action that I have taken. Shock, yes. I can understand that such a shocking thing will rock the entire community. But concern...

I have been beneath concern all my life but for the first fifteen months, and even then I am the source of my parents' death. Without me they would have been able to hide all that much earlier and thus avoided Peter's decision to join Voldemort.

Yes, quite a shock to the wizarding world that the one who had saved them twice didn't like his own life. At this point, I will no longer care what the public has to say about me, but I have written this letter in the hopes that maybe someone I cared about will take the time to read it. I doubt that will happen, but I wish it with all my heart that maybe one of the people I loved in life will care about me in death enough to not let me become some news freak show.

Now, the shock of this - I don't have the energy to laugh about it, but at one point I did. Those first few days after I learned that I was a wizard and wanted and all manner of things the Dursleys had never wanted me to be were the best I ever had in my life. The month after I turned eleven was the greatest I have ever spent. It wasn't until I stood in Kings Cross, desperately searching for Platform 9 and 3/4 that I started to realize just what was in store for me.

Meeting the Weasleys was the best and worst thing to ever have happened to me at that point. I had been able to ignore the haunting dreams I had all my life of a green light and a woman screaming, but now I was confronted with the fact that I was famous.

Me, Harry Potter, scum of the earth as deemed by Dudley Dursley and his friends, was famous and WANTED!

But as I sat down in that train compartment, with the help of Fred and George Weasley, I realized with the breathy exhalation of 'You're Harry Potter?!' that I now had a completely different role to take than the one I had wished for.

Upon reading my invitation to Hogwarts, I had hoped that I would be able to make friends for the first time in my life, to have teachers who cared, to maybe - just maybe - have someplace I could call a home. But that was ruined by the obvious expectations of my peers. Even now I can remember Ginny asking her mother 'Can I go see him, Mum?' and Ron's astonished look as he realized that his brothers were not playing another one of their tricks and that I really was The Harry Potter.

At that point in time, I thought to myself that I am not a show at the zoo, some caged creature there solely for the pleasure of others to look at and then ignore. I had stepped into a world where everybody knew my name and seemed to genuinely want to know me.

The doubts began to creep in the more I learned about the wizarding world. I could write off some of the things that had happened as a desperate wish to get more out of life that isn't as good as everyone would think. Quirrell I could dismiss as being seduced by Voldemort and it had nothing to do with me. I could ignore the fact that I was the one who had made Voldemort that way, even to the point where I barely remember our conversation that first time.

Now I have doubts about that year, when between Ron and Hermione and I we figured out that something had gone terribly wrong in the defenses around the Philosopher's Stone that the school was surreptitiously guarding. The three of us, eleven and twelve year olds, had accomplished what no grown witch or wizard had thought to do. It may be cynical of me to say this, but I think that I was set up. I, an eleven-year-old, with all the doubts and fears of one my age, had been guided by an unseen hand along a path I was meant to take all along. Clues that should have been obvious to people much older than I was had been handed down to me.

No. I was not guided. I was manipulated along that path.

Second year was a shock for me. First when Dobby approached me, and I had to escape the Dursleys by means of the Weasley family car, the twins, and Ron. Being blocked from entering the platform at Kings Cross was cruel, and subconsciously I knew I should have heeded Dobby's warning that something terrible would befall me. When the entire school decided that I was Slytherin's Heir due to my ability to speak in Parseltongue, I was devastated. People I thought were friends went out of their way to avoid me. I was glad for Hermione and the Weasleys then, for trying to act so normal around me.

And then I met Voldemort for the third time in my life. Sure, this one may have been much younger than the previous two versions I had seen of him, but he was just as mean. 

Notice I don't say 'evil' or 'dark.' I have learned that those two have entirely different meanings than what I was taught. But no one will believe me if I tried to explain it, so I will take it to my grave.

I was met by a boy not much older than myself who had lived under circumstances eerily like and dislike my own. We both had a parent who had descended from one of the founder's (though I did not know that at the time) and a parent who had come from the Muggle world. The difference that separated our lives was the fact that my mother was a witch who had been embraced for her uniqueness in her family (read her parents and not Petunia - who was jealous of all the attention that my mother got). And it was also that my mother loved me enough to sacrifice her own life to help me live, when all his father did was sign one piece of paper giving up all parental rights.

By this time, I had started to learn what a family should really be like. Watching the Weasleys had been a new learning experience that I eagerly watched. The interaction by all members - the twins teasing Percy, Ginny off in her own little world as the only girl, Ron trying to see just how he could be as great and lovable as his older brothers - had started to make me crave the same for myself. So when I met Tom Riddle as he tried to escape from his diary, it started to show me that I was never going to have a family like my friends had. I was alone in the world and facing a very intelligent opponent who wanted nothing more than to erase me from existence. I was unimportant to him at that point, other than the fact that I had managed to best him at the age I had been. A fifteen-month-old boy had brought down him - a fifty-year-old man who had studied for most of his life in his quest for something better than he had suffered when a child.

It wasn't personal at that point, and I could ignore it in favor of the house points Ron and I collected after saving Ginny from Riddle, and the school was safe from being closed. I was with my family, in my home, and things could not have been greater.

Third year...

I quite like my third year. That was the year that maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought. I learned that my father had had dear friends, and it was with the idea that I could have such things too that I went to Remus Lupin to learn how to protect myself from the terrifying memories - the only memories - that I have of my parents. Maybe it was in his nature to be stiff when meeting new people, because it was only when I mentioned the fact that I could hear my father's voice did his begin to loosen and soften towards me.

Then I was mad at him, because he had obviously known my father but never talked about him. I was desperate for a little piece of what I could have had had my parents lived and I was terribly hurt by the idea that I wasn't good enough for the information. I know that nobody told me such a thing, but nobody ever thought that I needed that information. I needed the memories people had of my parents because the only one I have ever had is when they were killed. Sure I have vague feelings and hear soft lullabies with no words, but they aren't the same.

And here was a man who had been friends with my father and he was holding back. I had not known of his condition, and even now don't hold it against him, but I craved the attention of an adult who would look upon me like I was worthy of their time. The patronus lessons helped with that, even as I told myself that he was only doing it because I asked him and as a teacher he was obliged to help a student in need.

Then I met Sirius Black. The one man I have learned to respect more than Professor Dumbledore. He risked being Kissed by the Dementors to protect the boy he had promised his best friend to watch out for. He was willing to open his home to me, even after knowing me for half an hour.

I was amazed and terrified all at once that this complete stranger - to me - would open their heart to me when all I had heard for most of my life was that I wasn't worthy of their time and consideration emotionally. I was only allowed to have anger and disgust and curiosity thrown my way, not this consideration and kindness.

I was actually wanted for myself, I told myself at the time. Someone wanted ME, a boy named Harry who at the time didn't realize that I had the weight of the entire wizarding world resting on his shoulders. I was loved and cared for and all manner of things that I had wanted all my life.

And then Fudge took it all away.

I blame him the most, even though Snape played his own little role in the destruction of my life.

I know it is pointless to blame them when they couldn't have known that by making Sirius run once more, they had destroyed the only chance that I have ever had of having a somewhat normal life. 

I should have known that my life was not meant to be like that - normal, I mean.

I will not bore you with going through the rest of my years at Hogwarts. It's only three and a half more, but it was from this point that I knew what my life was headed for. The shock of having my name come from the Goblet of Fire was the start of everything that snowballed into what it has become. I see Cedric's face all the time - in my dreams, in my nightmares, and in the faces of all those that have been killed since him. I see my parents, continuing to try to protect me from the man who killed them, even after death.

I do want to state, however, that I am not my father. I know that he was loved by many, and hated by still more, but I am not and never will be him.

Instead, I have had to live with the expectations that I would become him. From teachers and the rest of the adult world, to Sirius and Remus. They all see me as a reincarnation of him and I am not. I was given life by both my parents. But all they can see are my mother's eyes set into my father's face.

I am not what they wanted like I thought I was.

I have been made to take burdens I never wished to carry.

I just wanted to escape the prison that my cupboard had become, and I find that I have left one kind of prison for another. I was put on a pedestal so high that I could not climb off, even when those around me hated me. My peers knew that I was no one special, but adults can be funny about that.

It's why I will not live to be an adult. I think like one, but I cannot handle the stress of being one if this is what it's like. Some may say that I am a child, but I would like to know what child could live through all that I have seen.

Death is my sole companion now. He and I have been walking the same path for most of my life, though I knew it not. He only showed himself when Voldemort uttered the words 'Kill the spare.'

As if Cedric was a *spare* anything.

I was the spare. I was that odd wheel on the wagon, the one that's smaller than the others and has to work twice as hard to even get by unscathed. I was the one dumped by the wizarding world onto relatives that tried to beat the magic out of me. When the physical beatings didn't do it, they resorted to mentally willing the magic out of me, no matter that I had turned my teacher's hair blue when she scolded me for doing something that Dudley and Piers had done even then. I was the spare when I was around Ron and Hermione. The proverbial third wheel and all that.

But now it is just Death and myself. His scythe had cut a swath before me with impartial precision, taking out family and friends and enemies alike. I only raised my wand twice to do his job and he took care of the rest.

I must say that I regret killing Lucius Malfoy. He may have been mean and 'dark' but he loved his son with all he had and I took away his ability to be with his family - the only thing that I have ever wished for with all my might on every star I ever could and I stole that from someone.

I do not regret killing Voldemort. He, along with Death, has stolen everything that my life could have been. First my parents, then my friends starting with Cedric, though I doubt he called himself my friend, and then my family again with the Weasleys.

I do not blame Sirius and Remus for their decisions during the war. Each of them were protecting the last remnant of their friend. I say that like I am a piece of carpet left over, but I feel that way. It was different in third year, when I was innocent and ignorant of what the world is really like. Then I was worth all of their care and pretend love. But it is my fault - I saw things that weren't there in my want.

Since the end of the war two months ago, I have seen Sirius and Remus twice. Once was at the funeral for those killed in that final battle, the one that was to protect me of all people. The other time was the first time I went to Godric's Hallow since the night my parents were ripped from this world. Both of them were friendly like always, but they didn't see that I needed their love.

I guess what this comes down to is that I just wanted to be loved. Whether it was a familial or romantic love, I craved it and nobody ever saw fit to show me that.

On the other hand, I have loved many: Ron through his jealous fits and Hermione through her too-intelligent morals; Ginny who was the sister that I would never have; most certainly Fred and George for all their help in keeping me sane when it seemed they weren't; Mr and Mrs Weasley for accepting me into their family even when it could get them killed and did; Remus for teaching me that I could fight the darkness; and lastly Sirius, for whom I love more than anyone else. It was Sirius and the love that I have for him that got me through this war. It got me through the dark times when it seemed as if he had fallen off the face of the world and I was terrified that I would get a letter announcing his death.

If I had gotten such a thing, Voldemort would be ruling this planet for I would not have been able to carry on.

But Sirius has never seen my love for him.

He sees James.

He doesn't see me, Harry, who loves him with every fiber of my being.

For once, I would like to be held, to be hugged, to be kissed, to know that I am not alone. And I wish that Sirius could do it. My love for him knows no bounds, though I am trapped by the idea that he will reject me for being in love with him.

Yes, I am talking about romantic love here.

I do not know when it began, but I realized sometime after the war became the brutal thing that it was that my feelings for Sirius had changed. They had changed from wanting to be his son to wanting to be his lover. I know that it is disgusting to think of such a thing, but it is all I wanted, even up to now. To know that someone loves me.

The only reason I am telling my feelings now is that I will not have to fear his rejection of me.

I do not fear Death. He is my brother now, the other half of me - the part of me that was torn from my soul all those years ago by Voldemort when he tried to kill me the first time. It is with Death at my side that I hope to see my parents once again, who I hope will welcome me with open arms, to love me like I need.

Whoever reads this, thank you,

Harry Potter

PS I would like my invisibility cloak to go to Sirius. It is the last thing I have of my father's, and so will it be for him now that I am gone. I want Remus to have the album Hagrid gave me of my parents, and for Ron to have my Firebolt. The contents of my Gringotts account - please set up as a fund for those who are still suffering from the war, especially children who have been orphaned like I was so many years ago. They are the ones who will suffer the most. I suppose it will be best if the money goes towards scholarships to Hogwarts.

Thanks again,

Harry

Dumbledore bowed his head in grief, the two pieces of parchment that Harry had last written on laying in front of him on a cleared desk. Everything that had been on it before he had sat down reading now lay in haphazard piles after being blasted off the surface in anger as the fairies Flitwick had charmed for Christmas fluttered nervously in the far corners of his office. Anger that the boy - this child, this almost man - had felt that nobody loved him. That no one had ever wanted him as more than a tool, as a means to the end of something horrible. That he believed he was all alone in the world.

He buried his head in his arms and wept.

******

Shall I continue?


	2. Part 2

To Whom It May Concern (or There's No Guarantee)

By Richan

Disclaimer: I don't own anything here but the angsty plot.

AN: Thanks to everyone that's reviewed. It helped me get through this dark thing the story has become.

Part 2

"Remy, can we go see Harry now?" Sirius asked excitedly as he looked over the room that would become his godson's tomorrow when they brought him home for the holiday break.

Remus smiled complacently and smoothed the bedcovers one last time.

"Didn't you say that you wanted to wait until tomorrow so that you could ride the train back to London together?"

Sirius wore a sheepish look. "I can't wait until then. Maybe Albus will let us take him now instead of surprising him tomorrow?" His mood brightened with a huge smile and he left the room. "I think I'll go ask now."

Remus shook his head and slowly followed.

Sirius grabbed a pinch of the powder that lay in the red jar, the fine substance staining his fingers slightly with its amber color. Throwing it into the fire that crackled merrily in its fireplace, he called, "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts."

He frowned when there was no reply. That was strange, Albus usually sat in his office after lunch, and if he did leave, there was usually a message waiting for any one who had fire called. Sirius turned to Remus with a puzzled look.

"Do you think that something's wrong?" he asked.

Remus shrugged slightly.

"Maybe we can help," Sirius suggested in a hopeful manner.

Remus nodded. "Let's go."

******

Dumbledore slowly made his way down to the hospital wing of Hogwarts. His steps were slow and methodical, as if he were walking to his death. All the while, his hands clutched a couple pieces of parchment to his chest in the tightest grip he could manage.

He knew that he would have to let Sirius and Remus know that something had happened to Harry, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to feel anything but self-hatred at the moment. It hurt to know that he himself had had a hand in bringing this kind of pain to such a beautiful soul as Harry, but it hurt even worse that he didn't see the consequences of his actions. He had been so sure that the boy had been handling everything so well - he had never seen anything wrong.

That should have been his first clue that something was wrong. Before the war, Harry's face had been an open book to his actions, and his eyes to his soul. In the two months since that day when he had ended the second war with Voldemort, the brilliant green eyes were duller than they had ever been. In the midst of the war, Dumbledore hadn't taken the time to look at those eyes. There had been so much to do, so many to protect, that he had forgotten about those that didn't have anybody there to help. He had forgotten about Harry needing to see his godfather more, that he didn't have any other family to rely on to help him cope with all the horrors he had seen.

Instead, he had seen a boy who was as brave as his ancestor and breezed through the tough times with barely a scratch on his soul.

"Albus?"

Sirius then.

Dumbledore turned around to find the man and Remus walking towards him with concerned looks.

"What's wrong?" Remus asked when they got closer.

Shaking his head, he opened his mouth to say something. For the first time, though, he had no words. Turning, he finished the last couple of steps to the infirmary. Behind him he could almost feel the looks exchanged by the two men, but he couldn't offer them any consolation for what was coming.

"Albus?" Poppy asked as they came through the door, her grief leaking through her voice. "Sirius? Remus? Are you here to see Harry?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore could see the panic rising in Sirius' eyes.

"I didn't tell them, Poppy," he said as he turned to the two younger men. Subconsciously he noticed that he was still clutching Harry's letter in a death grip.

"What's wrong with Harry?" Sirius screeched out.

Dumbledore turned sad eyes to the closed door behind Poppy before looking back at Sirius and Remus. Holding tight to the letter, he said, "Harry...."

"Harry, what?" Remus asked, his concern etched into lines around his mouth.

Poppy gave a slight sniffle before answering. "He tried to commit suicide last night."

Dumbledore watched in shock as Sirius' eyes widened before going blank as he passed out. Next to him, Remus stared at the nurse.

"No," he said. "It can't be true." Remus shook his head violently. "You have to be wrong."

Poppy shook her head. "He's resting right now, but he lost too much blood by the time Severus found him this morning." She sighed sadly. "I don't think he will pull through."

Remus slumped onto the floor next to Sirius.

Dumbledore looked to Poppy, who sighed in that sad way again, and began the process of levitating Sirius to the bed next to where Harry lay. The headmaster took this time to watch the young man, his skin the palest he had ever seen it being. It had never been like this, even after he had come back with Cedric's body at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Sadness flowed through him when he remembered how much Harry had been clinging to the other boy's body, like it was his anchor to reality and if he was separated from it he would drift away.

He felt somebody walk up next to him and Dumbledore turned to find Remus looking at Harry, tears streaking down his cheeks. The younger man didn't even seem to realize that he was crying as he looked at the boy in the bed.

"How...?" Remus' voice was strained with emotion as he turned drowning amber eyes at the headmaster.

"He cut his wrists," Dumbledore answered quietly. "He cut them diagonally, rather than a straight cut. It kept him from dying, but the blood loss was great when he was found."

The two men were quiet, listening to Poppy's bustling about Sirius to make sure he was all right.

"You said Severus found him?" Remus finally asked as Poppy left the room.

Dumbledore nodded. "He's down in his rooms. I - finding Harry was very hard on him this morning."

Remus nodded. "Is that - that's a note from him?" he asked, a shaky finger pointing at the parchment in Dumbledore's hand.

The headmaster held them out. "You should sit down to read it, Remus," he said, guiding the younger man to the chair that sat between the two occupied beds. He turned sorrowful eyes at the boy that was lying so still on the bed. "I will be in Poppy's office if you need me or when Sirius wakes up."

******

Sirius looked up from the parchment, not heeding the hot tears that poured from his eyes. A tight fist seemed to have taken up residence in his chest, and the more that he had read, the tighter it had become.

He had woken up to a sobbing Remus, the other man's grief looking as if it were tearing him apart. Sliding quietly off the bed he found himself lying on, he looked over to the other bed on which Harry lay. The boy he had come to love as if he were another extension of himself was pale, his skin white with a near-death pallor.

It was only when he had picked up Harry's hand had Remus known that he was awake.

Sirius had been taken aback by the eyes that had been turned to him. Never had he seen such powerful emotions in his friend's eyes, seeming to be running near the speed of light. They were too quick for him to read, but he got the feeling that things weren't looking good.

"Harry...?" Sirius managed to croak out.

Remus shook his head and gave another sob. "Poppy.... Poppy doesn't think he's going to make it. She - she said he lost too much blood."

Sirius felt his face drain of all color.

No! He couldn't lose Harry now, not when everything was so settled! He was supposed to take his godson into his house and give him the home Sirius had wanted to give since he had found the Potter house in rubble that Halloween all those years ago. They were supposed to do all kinds of things that people did together - go to quidditch games and play pranks on the Slytherins and do all manner of goofy, fun things that Sirius had planned to do when Harry had grown up when he'd first been invited to be his godfather.

Slinking down to the floor, Sirius shook his head. "Why...?" He looked up at the bed and wanted Harry to sit up and tell him why he had made those horrible gashes on his wrists and why he felt he wanted to die when it seemed like his life was finally his own.

Remus joined him on the floor and grabbed some parchment that looked like he had dropped it after reading. Silently, he handed Sirius the parchment.

Now that he was through reading it, he didn't know what to think. He hadn't realized that Harry had believed that he wasn't worthy of anything. Never had he thought that Harry had never seen the affection he had given to the boy. He wanted to go back in time and show his godson just how much he loved him and wanted him in his life and that he wasn't just a connection to his father.

What bothered him the most was that Harry had feared that Sirius would reject him for loving him. He had never thought of his godson that way, but he wouldn't have thrown the boy out of his life. Now it was all he could think about. Why hadn't he seen that Harry was alone and just wanted someone to call his own? Why hadn't he known that Harry needed the words when all Sirius had given him were actions that could be misconstrued by someone who had never known what it was like to be wanted for himself?

Sirius scrambled off the floor, almost knocking Remus fully onto the floor. Jumping onto Harry's bed, he lay next to the boy and buried his head in his neck.

"Don't you leave me, Harry James Potter!" he shouted. "Don't you leave me alone! I need you in my life to live, and if you aren't here, I will be joining you!" He could barely get the words out as his grief filled his whole being. "Don't leave me, please," he whispered in Harry's ear before burying his face in the boy's hair. "Please. I love you."

******

'Severus looks tired,' was the first thought that crossed Dumbledore's mind the second he crossed the threshold to the man's chambers.

Poppy had sent him here once she had gotten Harry stabilized, knowing that Severus was not emotionally up to staying in the hospital wing. Before he had, he had come to see Dumbledore with the note he had found next to Harry deep in the heart of the dungeons. It was only, Dumbledore knew, that because of Severus' insomnia and his frequent walks through the abandoned dungeons that he had found Harry.

Dumbledore wondered briefly how Harry had known that such a place existed. He knew that he hadn't memorized the map his father and Sirius had made, and even the Slytherins, who lived in this part of the castle, went out of their way to avoid it.

Shaking his head, he turned and noticed that Severus was sleeping in his bed. The normally pale skin was even whiter than usual, an indication that all was not well with the Potions master. He hoped that this situation was not going to get worse. As self-centered as it seemed, he would not be able to handle the loss of such brilliant and worthy people.

'Worthy,' Dumbledore thought, Harry's letter coming to his mind. Both of these children had never seen themselves as worthy of anything in their lives. All he could do now is hope that this wouldn't push Severus off the edge he had been teetering on for a long time.

Making sure that Severus was comfortable, Dumbledore began the journey back to the hospital wing. He had left it once he had known that Sirius wasn't going to do any harm to himself and that Remus was okay as well. He and Poppy had been alerted to Sirius' waking up with his shouts. It had been painful to watch as one of the strongest men Dumbledore had ever known had broken at this. He knew they would have to watch Sirius if Harry....

No. He couldn't think that way at the moment. Not if he wanted to make it through this himself.

Watching the two on the bed as they slept, as well as the one slumped in the chair next to it, all Dumbledore could think was 'how could I have prevented this from happening?'

He was startled out of the 'what-ifs' running through his head when the door to the hospital wing opened to a whispering Ron and Hermione, who stopped dead in their tracks when they caught sight of their missing friend laying on the bed, Sirius, sleeping under sedation, wrapped around Harry in a grip that wouldn't be loosened even after death.

Dumbledore watched as Ron paled, the fading, long scar that ran along one cheek having more color than the rest of his face. Hermione was gasping for breath as she turned disbelieving eyes to the headmaster.

"Headmaster?" the girl managed to get out, even though Dumbledore could see her gulping spastically around some lump in her throat.

He solemnly nodded. Hermione seemed to have worked out what had happened, even though Poppy had tucked one of Harry's arms back under the covers, the other hidden from view by Sirius.

"Hermione? What...?" Ron asked.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked, ignoring her boyfriend's question.

Dumbledore slowly shook his head. "Madame Pomfrey does not think so."

Hermione's hands went to her mouth as she gave a choked sob.

"What is it?" Ron asked, panic in his voice.

Taking pity on the boy, Dumbledore answered, "Harry tried to commit suicide yester eve - " he was interrupted briefly by a half-muttered 'no' from the red head " - and has lost too much blood for a chance at recovery."

He watched the two teenagers in the same shocked state he had been in since Severus had entered his office this morning. Hermione groped wildly at Ron, who had a devastated look on his face. Dumbledore was shocked, since he hadn't worn such a thing even after being told that his parents had died protecting the Burrow after having evacuated their remaining children.

"No," Ron shouted. "It's not possible! Why would he do such a thing?"

His shouts woke up Remus, who had been dozing fitfully in the chair.

"Ron," his husky voice cut through the boy's ranting. "Did he say anything to you these past few months?"

He watched, as the red head shook his head 'no.'

"Anything at all?" he asked again.

"No," Ron slowly answered. His eyes were glued to the bed where Harry and Sirius lay. "In fact we didn't talk much at all."

Remus sighed. He'd been hoping that Harry had said something as a tip off of what he was planning, but just knowing the he hadn't talked to his best friend was chilling. Harry had probably been feeling isolated from the rest of the world as they tried to adjust to the shock the war had brought with it. Still, they should have seen the problems that had been laying just at the surface.

And yet, he knew that Harry had also tried to hide his pain and done it very well. When they had gone to Godric's Hollow, the boy had seemed to be adjusting back to a normal life. Admittedly, Remus and Sirius had been trying to find out just what Harry wanted from the things that had survived in the blast that had torn the house apart so that they could put them in his new room. Both of them had made several affectionate gestures that Harry must not have realized what they really were. Remus remembered patting him on the shoulders several times and Sirius had ruffled his hair on more than one occasion.

Maybe they had spent so much time on getting everything ready for Harry that they had forgotten to ask Harry what he wanted. To know what they were planning on doing. But neither of them had given a thought to the mental state Harry was truly in. They hadn't thought to look beneath the surface to the pain that lingered there.

And if what he was feeling was bad, Remus knew that Sirius was in hell. Wanting to protect and love Harry had been all that had kept Sirius sane all the time he was in Azkaban and on the run. Even these last four months of freedom hadn't changed his every waking thought of keeping Harry safe.

He didn't realize he'd started crying until a handkerchief was waved in his face. Looking up, he gave a wobbly half-smile to Dumbledore in thanks since he didn't think that his voice would work anymore. He looked over to where Harry's friends had gone as he wiped his eyes. The two teenagers had taken the news very hard and Remus couldn't blame them. It was *very* bad news to hear.

******

Sirius wanted to stay in the blackness he'd been in. Here he didn't have to know anything, couldn't see anything, and more importantly, have to *feel* anything. But eventually it had to end as much as he wanted it to go on forever.

Cracking open one eye, he discovered that it was dark out and the infirmary had been put to bed. Leaning up on one elbow, he looked down at Harry to find him in that same unconscious state he'd been in. Sirius ran a gentle hand along the side of his face, the smooth skin with a hint of stubble a startling contrast to the calluses on his fingers and palm.

After have made sure that Harry hadn't gotten worse, Sirius half sat up and looked around the room to find it empty of everything but the two of them. He looked past the partly-open door to see a shaft of light coming from further down the wing where Madam Pomfrey had her quarters, and he could hear Remus' soft snoring coming from next door. Satisfied that his friend was taken care of for the moment, he turned his attention back to Harry.

He was startled when he found a pair of dull, green eyes looking at him.

"Harry?" he asked in a voice made raspy by his previous crying.

"Siri..."

Harry's voice was small and filled with pain and self-hatred and nothing like Sirius wanted it to sound.

"Harry," he said again, running his hand down the side of Harry's face once more.

"I want to die, Siri...."

Sirius' heart stopped with the words. He could tell that Harry meant them with all of his heart. But he couldn't let his godson go. He just couldn't.

"Don't leave me, Harry. Don't leave me alone," he whispered in a desperate voice. "Don't leave me with nothing."


	3. Part 3

To Whom It May Concern (or There's No Guarantee)

By Richan

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't make me say it again.

AN: This is the last part, and I will not be continuing. Conclusions are left for you to come up with.

Part 3

Harry hadn't known what to think when he'd found himself waking up. He had made sure that no one would be able to find him by going directly into the heart of the dungeons. He had spent months searching for a place that was quiet back in his fifth year and after having discovered that even the Slytherins avoided it decided that it was perfect for being alone.

Now that he was awake, he felt much warmer along his right side. Curious to know what it was, he had opened his eyes to find Sirius half-laying next to him. From what he could see of his face as the man looked out of the room, Harry surmised that he had cried earlier, judging from the stained tracks down his cheeks.

The vague thought that there would be somebody to cry over him was ridiculous. He wasn't worth anyone's tears, let along a man who grieved for someone Harry could never be. Sirius must not have read the note - otherwise he wouldn't be here. Maybe the note was lost or whoever found him didn't see it.

Sirius turned back to look at him and Harry saw that he was shocked to see Harry awake. Had he not wanted to be here and now he was found out?

"Harry?"

That sad voice could not be Sirius' at all. His voice was supposed to be filled with happiness and mischievousness. It wasn't to sound like his life had suddenly stopped and he didn't want to re-start it.

"Siri..." He wanted to reassure his godfather that he would be fine but couldn't. Harry knew that he was too screwed up to ever be considered a good godson now. Even if he didn't want that anymore - wanted something much different = he wanted to make sure that Sirius would be fine after he was gone.

"Harry."

Was Sirius pleading with him? Harry didn't know what to think, other than:

"I want to die, Siri...."

Sirius' eyes flashed briefly, but the room was too dark for Harry to see what it was that had crossed them.

"Don't leave me, Harry. Don't leave me alone," he whispered in a desperate voice. "Don't leave me with nothing."

Desperate? Why would Sirius want Harry to stay?

No. Harry couldn't stay. Look at all the destruction he had caused just by being born. He had lost Sirius his best friend because his father tried to protect him. Sirius had endured twelve years in prison because of Harry, and had been on the run up until four months ago when the Head Auror, cleaning up the latest Death Eater raid, had caught Wormtail.

Harry couldn't believe that Sirius would have nothing if he completed his task to die. The older man had Remus and his freedom and a house. Why would he want Harry in his life?

"Siri," he started to say.

"Harry," Sirius interrupted. "Just listen to me. I love you and I have always loved you. I don't know if I can ever love you like you love me, but please.... Please give me the chance."

He didn't know what to say. From what Sirius had said, it was obvious that he had read Harry's note. And he wasn't disgusted by what Harry felt? And just what did he mean by giving him a chance? A chance at what?

Then the rest of what he said sunk in and Harry stared at him. Sirius loved him? No, he couldn't do that and was just saying it to him to make him feel better.

"No, you don't," Harry whispered.

"Harry!" Sirius shouted, startling the both of them.

"You just see James in me," Harry said. "That's all everyone has ever said to me! 'You look just like James!' or 'That's what James would have done.' How could I know this? It was because of me that he's dead and I never got to know him!"

Sirius reached over and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him.

"Harry!" he said, still shaking him lightly, "I know that you are not James and will never be him. Yes, I do miss him and I see part of him in you. But that will not change what I felt the moment I first held you in the hospital. You have been a part of my family since then and no matter what happens you always will. Nothing can change that!"

Harry tried to process what Sirius was saying, but he didn't know what to think of it. Never had he even considered this and it made him feel ten times worse than he already did.

"I'm sorry, Siri," he whispered, wanting to say the words ten thousand times over for hurting the person he loved most. "I'm sorry."

Sirius' heart broke at Harry's little voice. He didn't understand why the boy was apologizing, but he accepted it all the same, knowing that it would help just a little. And with the knowledge of Harry's letter in the back of his head, he did what he'd been wanting to do since the first time Sirius had seen Harry in the boy's third year.

He slowly wrapped his arms around the thin body, tightening his hold when he felt Harry tense up. If this was part of what he had to do to keep Harry in his life, he would do it forever. He felt Harry gradually relax in his arms, a sign that he'd fallen asleep, but Sirius didn't take his arms away. 

He was going to hold onto Harry any way he could and nothing was going to stop him.

It was nearing dawn when Harry stirred again.

"Siri...?"

He looked down at the boy in his arms before sliding one up so that he could stroke the soft cheek. "What is it, Harry?"

"Can I disappear?"

Sirius didn't know what to think for a moment. His eyes searched the thin face before settling on pleading green eyes. He knew what Harry was asking but wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. Still, he had promised to himself that he would do whatever it took to make his godson happy and if this is what he had to do, then so be it.

"I'll see what I can do."

Harry's eyes lit up to what Sirius remembered they should look like. It was then he realized that he hadn't seen such a look since sometime in Harry's Fourth Year when they'd met in the cave outside of Hogsmeade. Then all Harry had to worry about what the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which was nothing compared to the horrors that had awaited him since the night of the third task. After that, the green eyes had gotten dull as time went by.

Sirius kept all of this to himself as Harry fell asleep once more. He knew he should have seen the effects of war on Harry. He should have been there when he was growing up, but nothing in the world could change the past. All he had was a shot at the future, and if Harry wanted to leave...

Deciding what was to be done, he made a note to only tell Remus and Dumbledore about Harry's decision. They would be able to help him.

******

Dumbledore watched the Great Hall with sad eyes. Any minute now the morning mail would be coming in, and along with it would be this morning's Daily Prophet, with the news that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived to Defeat Voldemort Twice, had died the previous day.

He hadn't wanted to do it this way, but Harry had insisted. There were six people who knew what had happened, and none of them would ever say a word about it.

The funeral was to be held two days from now, the end of the first week of school. Already, several of Harry's classmates had wondered where he had gotten to, as well as a frantic Ron and Hermione wearing out the carpet outside of the infirmary waiting for news. But Harry wasn't there.

Dumbledore counted down from sixty as the owls came flying through the Great Hall. When he got to one, a terrible sound echoed through the large room as the students read the paper. It was a cross between a scream and a painful moan, and he knew that for some it was.

Beside him, he could hear Minerva whispering "no" over and over again as she read the paper. But he already knew what it read - after all, he'd been the one that had sent notice to the paper. The article stated that Harry Potter had succumbed to the coma he'd been in after attempting suicide four days before Christmas. He'd been sent home to Sirius and Remus when it was found that he wouldn't wake up and they had taken him home to die in comfortable surroundings.

They, of course, were devastated by the death of their friend's son, Sirius' godson, and would not be at the funeral due to the traumatic events leading up to Harry's death.

He was startled out of his thoughts by screams from the Gryffindor table. Looking over in that direction, he found several students in a circle and he could guess that either Ron or Hermione, or both, had not taken the news well at all. Walking swiftly, Dumbledore made himself act impartial even though inside he was screaming at the mess he had helped create. Together with Minerva, who'd also tried to put aside the news in order to help the living, he moved Hermione and Neville Longbottom to the infirmary, a shell-shocked Ron staggering behind them with help from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Behind them trailed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They had been the only class that all members had survived up until now, and Dumbledore hated that it had finally broken.

******

A soft, summer breeze drifted over the grassy knoll three men were sitting on, a picnic basket half-emptied as they enjoyed the sunshine. The two older men, Robert and Stephen Markham, were cajoling the youngest of the three, Hayden Markham, to eat just a little more or he'd be one of the stick people he drew when he was bored. 

The three of them had moved to this little place in the world with no one but three for the wiser. Everything had been set up, and in the seven months since they had arrived things had been going better and better. The first few months had been hard to get through, and it was only on account of extreme stubbornness on Robert and Stephen's parts that Hayden had survived the dreadful illness he had. The few people they had spoken to since their arrival all offered their sympathy on the youngest man's illness and if they could do anything to let them know. All offers had been kindly refused, saying that Hayden was very shy and it was best for him to recuperate with just the two of them.

Over the course of those seven months, they had three visitors who never spent more than a couple of hours with them. One, an old man with a long, white beard, walked in a somber man and walked out with a much brighter outlook. A middle-aged woman was a much more frequent visitor, and judging by the large, black case she carried, the few nosy people that lived in the area figured that she was the nurse to check on her young patient. The third visitor had only been there twice, and the tall, balding, red-headed man had both entered and left with a morose expression those two times, although it seemed for different reasons.

On the top of the knoll that the locals avoided because it was haunted, the older man with black hair scooped the younger man into his lap and began to tickle him, giving mocking nips along his neck as the other man, with his graying blond hair smiled on. Laughter rang happily through the little deserted-by-all-but-them valley.

******

End.


End file.
